Rebuild Part I: What's Next of Us
by cfulling3
Summary: Without a steady supply of hosts and food, CBI is dying out. Towns are appearing across the US as groups begin rebuilding, either with or without FEDRA's help; who has started work towards the reforming of the old government, and vows to prevent another outbreak from happening ever again by any means necessary- even working with their worst enemies to do so. Cover art is mine.
1. Chapter 1

**IMPORTANT, PLEASE DON'T SKIP: There won't be very many A/Ns in this one. I've decided they're just about useless, especially after how little of a response I've actually gotten. Anyways, I feel I owe an explanation for my absence. My parents have just finished finalizing their divorce, so I haven't really felt like writing, and I have gotten some incredibly bad writer's block on chapter 25 or 26 of Part 3, which explains why I started re-writing Part 1 already. Now that this is over with, please enjoy!**

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><p>Chapter 1: Father and Daughter<p>

_April 27th, 2034 8:45 PM_

Brandon Harris- Ohio

Despite the cool temperature, my shirt was clinging to my back from sweat. I looked up at the sky, somewhat relieved to see the orange of the sun setting, but unnerved by the storm clouds beginning to gather. I turned around to face the girl trailing slightly behind me, distracted. "Hey, Cass," I called back to her. Her eyes shot up and she snapped out of her thoughts, "We're stoppin' for the night soon."

She cracked a relieved smile, "Oh, thank god. I'm starving."

I chuckled and pulled out a protein bar out, tossing it to her, "Eat that. Should get you through 'til dinner."

Casey nodded her appreciation and opened it, taking a bite. "Shho," She said through a mouthful of granola. She swallowed it before continuing to speak, "How long before we reach… Akron, right?"

"Yeah, it's Akron. We'll reach the suburbs in about ten minutes, that's where we're stopping for the night."

"Okay," She sighed, preparing for another painful ten minutes of walking.

I grinned, "I'll grill up some of that rabbit you shot earlier as a reward."

Her expression brightened and she suddenly had full energy again, shouting, "Deal!" I laughed in response.

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><p>We reached a small neighborhood eight minutes later and selected a house that seemed more welcoming than the others, except for a small part of the roof that caved in. I searched the house for Infected or Hunters while Casey searched for supplies. I was satisfied when the house was given the OK, and Casey had come up with a few canned foods, a box of .45 ammo, an EMS switchblade with a roll of duct tape, and a note. "I'm guessing you want me to read it?" I teased, putting the freshly skinned rabbit on the rocks by the fire to cook. She nodded eagerly; so I pretended to think about it before saying, "Oh, alright." and taking it.<p>

"_were not the only ones trapped in here. the others were herded into this house as well. the hunters are waiting outside right now. running low on water. need to go out and find some more soon. they won't let us leave though._"

I felt sickening nervousness grow in my stomach. Did we just walk right into a hunting trail? No… no we didn't. We would've seen the signs of one, especially if this was the endpoint of multiple ones. I jumped out of my contemplation at the booming roar of thunder, quickly followed by rain.

Casey looked scared after I read the note. "Did we walk right into a trap?" She asked shakily.

I unconvincingly shook my head. "Wait here, I'll get our stuff." I informed her, putting my 9mm pistol on the table for her safe-keeping. I went into the next room over, cursing myself for not putting a light source in this room. I shivered at the cold brought on by the coming night and rain. I fished around the different pockets on my vest for a flashlight, smiling when I finally found it. I turned it on, moving it through the room to find the packs, but froze on something I prayed was an error: the window was wide open. I opened my mouth to tell Casey to get in here, but the words stuck in my throat when I felt the barrel of a gun against my ear. "That is an M1911 against your head. I suggest you think hard about what your next words are."

I swallowed and called, "Casey…"

"Yeah?"

I scanned the room for silhouettes against the flashlight beam and counted two more people. "There are three Hunters in this room with me," The man pressed the gun harder against my head, "One of them has a gun to my head and they are going to kill us both if you don't get of this house. right. now."

I heard her begin running to the room but hesitate. After about five seconds, she backed off and left, one of the windows in another room screeching open. "Smart kid," The one of the Hunters remarked.

"I don't want any trouble. Just take whatever you want out of my bag, and we'll be on our way."

The one with a gun to my head cackled, "Doesn't quite work like that, buddy." He twisted me so I'd face him and hit me in the forehead with the handle of the pistol. I stumbled and he hit my nose, smashing the cartilage. I fell to the ground and smashed my head against the concrete foundation. "Now, the hunt begins," He sneered, raising his foot and bringing it down on my cheek.

My head smashed against the foundation again, and I wasn't given time to scream before blacking out.

_9:36 PM_

Casey Harris- Ohio

I opened the window as quickly as I could and squirmed out. I stumbled slightly in the mud on landing, and was too late to react to the man behind me. He grabbed my collar and pulled me towards him. I yelped and pulled the EMS knife out my back pocket and stabbed his side twice, I twisted around and grabbed his head with my right hand and put the blade against his neck. I slit his throat by pushing him into the blade and threw him to the ground against the blade. I closed the knife and put it away, moving my hand to the front pocket and pulling Brandon's pistol out. I searched the body for a flashlight then grinned in celebration when my fingers wrapped around the cool handle of one. I secured it in one of the modified straps cut into my camouflage jacket that I designated for a flashlight. And took his hat for mediocre rain protection.

"Okay… time to get out of here," I told myself; I'd have to figure out how I get Dad out there later. I've the more pressing issue of making sure I don't get killed. I turned around and began running for the forest downhill, but stopped dead in my tracks when four flashlight beams started cutting through the trees. One of them passed over me, but quickly shot back to my position; followed by a chorus of screams and gunshots. "Fuck!" I hissed out when one grazed my bicep. I ducked as I started running towards a randomly selected house and started shooting wildly at where the beams were coming from. I reached the window and struggled with trying to open. "Shit, shit, shit." I gasped, glancing sideways at the forest. Two of the Hunters were running at me from the forest, weapons raised. "Fuck it," I muttered. I sent a couple shots downrange at the two- one went down and the other stopped to check on them- before shooting out the window.

I vaulted the window and slid into a nearby room. I took several deep breaths to steady myself and wrapped my arm with a scrap cloth. I got through a few drawers on a desk in the corner before I heard somebody slowly start opening a door. "Dammit," I said under my breath, swapping the pistol for the knife and gliding across the floor to an open cabinet with more than enough space for slightly underweight twelve-year-old to curl up and hide in. I closed the cabinet right when a flashlight beam cut through the room. I crawled towards the back of the closet as they slowly entered, holding their pistol so close to their face I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at their stupidity.

The humor died when he started scanning in between the slits in the closet with the flashlight beam. I cowered into a pile of hole-ridden clothes that smelled like week-old death and held my breath until the flashlight moved to the other side of the room. Somebody unseen grunted and climbed into the house and walked into the room. "She killed Doug," He had an odd tone in his voice that seemed unnatural, "The others said Mark's dead as well, so watch your back."

The one I hid from laughed, "Really? Damn, seems like Christmas came early, don't it? This chick killed those two assholes, AND we have more than enough food for everybody for once? I almost feel bad for goin' this hunt."

"You almost sorry for her?" He asked with a chuckle, "If I were you, I'd take it to the next step."

"Why?"

"Jack's losin' his shit over this girl right now. Wants her on the choppin' block with the rest of 'em. Restitution or some shit like that."

"Shit, really?" The first one's tone became more disappointed.

The second scoffed, "Why's that got your panties in a knot?"

"Was kinda hopin' I'd get her if I found her. Oh well, I'll probably be able to afford one by next week." I tilted my head, trying to get both of their meanings.

"The fuck is wrong with you, man? Those are people you're talking about. Y'know what? I don't care, let's just get outta this house."

"No, there's no way she got out that quickly. She's in here somewhere."

"Fuck you, too." I whispered.

"This house ain't that large. She'd either of been in the kitchen- you checked there, right?" I assume Asshole nodded, "The bathroom, which I checked, or the…" He trailed off and I'm guessing looked at the closet.

"She isn't in there, Scott. I checked already."

"Did you open it at all?" There was a small period of silence before it sounded like somebody was smacked and Scott muttered, "You're a fuckin' idiot."

I panickedly looked for a way I could hide while the footsteps got closer and closer, but found nothing. They're right outside the closet, and I heard it slowly begin to open. Without any other options, I resigned myself to flicking the switch on the blade and waiting for whatever happens next to happen.

The creaking of the door ceased, declaring it was open. The tense silence that followed made it feel as if time stopped. After what seemed like hours, the first one began to laugh, "Wow, maybe I am an idiot."

"Wasn't saying that as a joke, Anthony." Scott retorted, grabbing my right arm and pulling hard, "C'mon, let's just make this quick."

I pulled violently, trying to get out of his grasp, "Get the fuck offa me!" His grip tightened and he pulled so hard it felt like my arm popped out of socket. But, he fucked himself as a result. I smashed into his chest and felt the knife sink into a lung. I quickly pulled the pistol out and shot Anthony in the eye, killing him instantly. I put the gun back and turned my attention to Scott, who was on his knees now, his expression a mix of pain and confusion. I forced him to look at me and grabbed the knife. "How many in your group are here?" I demanded. He didn't answer, so I twisted the knife, drawing a gasp of pain from him, "Fine. Can you at least tell me where my dad is?"

"The… the chopping block…" He panted.

"That's the second time you've said that. What the hell is the chopping block?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized what it was. "You fucking EAT PEOPLE?!" I screamed, becoming physically sick at the thought. Thunder boomed outside and covered what he said next. "What'd you say?" I asked.

"We… all… have to survive… somehow."

I shook my head. "That's no excuse," I spat, pulling the knife out and hitting him on the head with the stud on the pommel until his face started bleeding from the damage to his brain and he went limp. "Okay," I breathed out when I finished and looked at my handiwork while rubbing my hurt shoulder, "I _really_ should've asked you where the chopping block is."

The cold, wet barrel of a gun was pressed against the back of my head. I started to get in position to get the gun away and kill him, but froze in terror at the sound of the hammer on a revolver being pulled to the firing position filled my ears. I dropped the knife and slowly put my hands up. The barrel disappeared, but the man shoved me to the ground before I could react. I began screaming and thrashing in an animalistic terror, trying desperately to crawl away. He grabbed my left wrist and viciously pulled it behind my back, uncomfortably far up. He repeated the process with my right arm. He grabbed the back of my head and jerked it painfully high into the air then slammed it back into the ground hard enough to break my nose. My screaming turned into a quiet whimpering after that. "P-p-please, l-let me g-g-g-go," I started to beg, "I-I-I'll- I'll d-do w-whatever y-you want me to do!" I fucking hate this stutter.

The man got off of me and let out a dark chuckle, moving a hand through my hair and down my back. "I don't think you get to make that call. Do you know why?"

"W-why?"

"Because," He began, way beyond any sort of contact that I could deem 'safe'. He forced my legs apart with his hand and began rubbing me through denim of my jeans in between my legs to my lower back. "You're the one who's tied up, and I'm not. That means we go by my rules, not yours. And why the sudden change of heart?" He asked rhetorically, "You just said you wanted to know where the chopping block is. I'll do one better: I'll take you there once we're finished here. Although, your daddy might want to watch, so should we…" He trailed off, pretending to be deep in thought, "Oh, fuck it, why not both?" He asked with a short bark of laughter. He hit the back of my head using the handle of his revolver hard enough to make me black-out. I only had enough time for one thought before slipping into the peaceful darkness of unconsciousness.

_This is how I'm going to die._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Happy Birthday

_April 28th, 2034 6:35 AM_

Casey- Ohio

I slowly wake up, numb to anything except the throbbing pain in the back of my head. I try to get my hands up to my head in order to massage the spot where I was hit, but stop at the sharp discomfort in my shoulders caused by something holding my arms in place. _Why did these sick fucks wait until I was awake before turning me into soup?_ I swallow to try and clear the slimy feeling in the back of my throat, but that only leaves a snotty taste in my mouth. I grimace at the taste; isn't bad, but I still hate it nonetheless and try to spit out the source. But, I can't because they shoved something in my mouth. Well, at least my senses have started returning with the activity.

I can now tell I'm still lying face-down, but the ground smells earthy and feels wet, not like the dank, moldy carpet of the house that the Hunter had grabbed me into. So, I'm certain they've taken me outside. Other than the taste and stickiness, my mouth is so dry it hurts; I've finally identified what's keeping me from opening it: a rag made out of coarse fabric that's been tied around my head and tastes like sweat. I can feel the dull pats of a freezing rain hitting my entire body, confirming that I am outside. Judging from how cold and wet my head feels - and how much the rain has soaked through my shirt - I've been here for a long time. My jacket is gone; the white short-sleeved shirt I have is still on, but they pushed it over my chest. Oddly, they haven't touched my jeans. My wrists are still tied together, but now so are my ankles.

I get the energy to turn onto my cheek and open my eyes slightly. I can't see much, but can tell it's early morning, and there's a light rain falling, but that isn't new information. There are a few blurry shapes that take too long for me to figure out are other people; none are moving and the stench of blood chokes the air, so I'm sure none of them are alive anymore. Some of them are hogtied like me, but others are tied to wooden stakes.

I can hear a voice on the other side of me, but can't decipher it until I turn my head. I can barely see Brandon out of the corner of my eyes, "...leave her alone! Please, I- I can take the punishment for her!" Why is Brandon screaming? No, screaming isn't the right word… why is he begging whoever he's talking to?

The blonde man standing in front of him appears deep in thought. "That depends, when's her birthday?"

Brandon looks the man in the eye, his bloody and beaten face contorting to an emotion that's somewhere in the middle of fear and hope. "S-she turns thirteen today."

"Really?" The man says, his interest peaking, and Brandon nods in response. "Well, I better wish her a happy birthday then," the man says with a chuckle. He turns around and walks to me, either not noticing or not caring that I'm awake. He stops walking when he is at the point where I can't see him anymore, so I focus on Brandon. That is, until I hear the Hunter unzip his pants. I try to roll over to see what he's doing, but he rolls me onto my belly again with his boot and kneels down. I feel him pry off my shoes one-by-one and toss them somewhere I can't see. He peels off my socks and massages my feet. "Wow, did you know your daughter's feet are _really_soft?" His tone gives me an uneasy feeling, and Brandon as well, judging from his expression.

He slowly climbs on top of me and turns me over slightly. Brandon catches on faster than me and begins thrashing around, a look of pure, unfiltered rage enveloping his face and it scares me; I've seen him angry, but this is something entirely new. "_GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY DAUGHTER RIGHT NOW!_" He roars, looking like he is going to kill everyone in a hundred-mile radius.

The Hunter laughs him off and begins toying with the button on my jeans. It finally clicks on what is about to happen. '_Although, your daddy might want to watch…_'

He is going to rape me. I try to scream, but the noise gets stuck in my throat. I start trying to slither away, but he grabs my shoulder with his free hand and pins me with a sadistic chuckle. "Ah, ah, ah. No need to get scared." He finally unbuttons and unzips my jeans. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and brace myself, but can't stop the tears or whimpering when he starts pulling my pants down.

He starts to run one of his hands through my hair like he's petting me and slips the other one underneath my boxers, "Everything is going to be alright…"

Brandon- Ohio

_He's raping her. He's raping our daughter in front of me and I can't do anything to stop him. God, Hannah, please fucking forgive me. Please forgive me for letting this sick fuck hurt our little girl_. I can't think of anything other than that, or how much I am going to make that Hitler Youth-looking-motherfucker wish he never even existed, not even the agony of my right eye's complete removal - pain so bad it blocked out everything else. Until he brought up Casey. Apparently, she got four Hunters before being captured herself. My eye being removed and her rape are apparently their ideas of restitution. I doubt that they are the only things that he has in mind.

Casey looks over at me, her eyes glazed with pain and fear and so much exhaustion that she could probably fall asleep in the middle of the animal's fun. He undid the gag earlier so he could hear how she liked getting fucked in the ass, but she said nothing. Whether from unwillingness or because she couldn't is beyond me. But now…now she says the one word that's been forbidden, and in that single word, I know just how badly I have fucked up as a father.

"Dad…" she croaks out.

My heart twists into a knot. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how hard I tried to strike it out of her… she still views me as what I am. Her father. "Casey, things will be different from now on. I promise, if we get out of this, things will be different," I vow, feeling tears well up for the first time since her mother received her death sentence.

The Hunter gives me a low chuckle in response, "Oh, I'm afraid this story doesn't the happy ending you want. Although, if the happy end you want is her survival, then I guess you will get your wish; she's much too obedient to kill. Normally they just scream and cry and try to crawl away and ruin the mood by giving me a headache, but your daughter can handle it like a pro."

"Then, what are you doing with her?" I demand, a swirl of apprehension, disgust, and relief overwhelming my mind.

He purses his lips, "I dunno. I'm probably just going to keep her for myself. She is my property now, after all."

Casey doesn't have the energy to respond to what he said, let alone register it. She just lies there; moving back and forth in sync with her rapist, with a semi-conscious, blank stare locked on to me and her mouth slightly ajar. "She is nobody's property," I growl, my anger somehow rising even more when I hear him say my little girl is nothing more than a piece of furniture. "She's a human being."

He brushes me off with a simple laugh, and suddenly, lets out a long sigh of content. He stops thrusting and lays down on top of her, stroking her exposed cheek with his right hand. As soon as I put two-and-two together and figure out what that sigh means, I try to lunge at him so I could gladly rip his throat out through his stomach, but can't get off the stake yet again. Although, I feel a small sliver of the wood splinter. After a test to see how well it could cut the bonds proves successful, I slowly begin sawing the binding away.

He finishes buttoning his pants just as a rusted pickup drives up through one of the trails. A man wearing a filthy tank top and a ball cap steps out of the driver's seat, accompanied by a man in a flannel with a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder on the passenger side. "Finish up here and bring the bodies back to camp," He orders them before scooping up Casey, not even bothering to pull up her pants or boxers, "I'm going to introduce your friends to my new partner here."

Ball Cap laughs, "Sure thing, boss." The rapist throws Casey into a sedan that is in slightly better condition than the pickup and gets into the driver's seat. He drives away, down a completely different path than the pickup came from. Ball Cap points to me and says to Hunting Rifle, "You can get the last one."

Hunting Rifle grins and pulls a buck knife out. "Y'know, if it's any consolation for ya, I'm sure we'll reunite you with your daughter." He starts to walk towards me.

I feel the last of the bonds snap, but bide my time, "I'll give you one chance to tell me where he's taking my daughter."

He starts laughing hysterically, "Ya hear this guy, Bob?" The other Hunter nods and resumes his previous task of cutting the dead loose and tossing them in the back of the truck. "It's over, man. No need to try and act tough anymore." When he is in front of me after crossing the clearing, he pushes my head back against the stake and rests the knife against my neck.

"Suit yourselves," I simply state, springing into action. I push the knife away from my neck and strike him in the head until he falls, then I roll him onto his stomach and grab the rifle.

Bob's eyes widen in fear when he turns to the noise, and looks directly into the sights of the rifle. He runs to the truck, trying to duck out out of the path of the bullet while screaming, "WHAT THE FU- _AAAAAAHHHH_!" His cry devolves into a howl of pain as I shoot his hip out.

I get off Hunting Rifle after taking the weapon and pull the stake out of the ground and let him roll onto his back. His expression goes from confusion and rage to shock and terror. "No, wait-!"

I don't let him finish before ramming it into his stomach. I lean down and look him in the eye while he bleeds to death, unable to do anything but paw feebly at the stake and try to speak through a mouthful of blood. "I warned you dogfuckers, didn't I?" I hiss, twisting the stake just to cause him even more pain before going to Bob, who is writhing in agony.

"Please don't…" he whimpers when he sees me coming and tries to crawl away. I silently pull the shirt off of the dead tourist that he'd just let loose and cut it up. I sit on his lower back and use one of the rags to tie a tourniquet around his hip, another to tie his hands, and a third on his ankles.

"Don't worry," I inform him, my voice much colder than I wanted it to be. "I still need you…" I pick him up and throw him into the passenger seat.

_Two hours later…_

"Fu-ugh! Please, stop!" Bob pleads yet again. His face is barely recognizable as anything more than a bloody lump of flesh. I step back, massaging my hand.

"It'll stop when you tell me what I've asked you twice already. _Where did he take my daughter_?!" I shout, walking to the door where some overly curious Runners are hanging about because of all the noise.

"I- I don't know!" he cries out. "Alex is leaving the camp today, he never tells us where else he goes!"

"Then where's your camp!?" I question, getting one of the Runners to start banging on the door. When he doesn't answer, I let the Runner in and close the door behind it quickly before others could pile in after it. It doesn't notice me, and charges straight to Bob instead.

"South of Akron! TWO MILES SOUTH OF AKRON!" he screams, trying to wriggle away from certain death while tied to a worn-down wooden chair. Still, I wait until the Runner is on him before shooting it. The sound excites the other ones even more and they begin banging on the door or windows of the store I'm carrying out my interrogation in. "What…the fuck…is wrong with you…man?" he says in between pants. I don't answer him, instead, I walk past him to the rear entrance. He realizes my intentions and begins begging, "Wait, you can't just leave me tied up like this!"

I open the door, but hesitate before walking out. "You're right. Leaving you here is just cruel. But people like you don't deserve anything quick." I say in a deadpan tone. I aim at one of the windows and shoot it out, walking into the alley and slamming the door shut to drown out his wordless screams for help.

It fails. In fact, I'm certain he's alerted every Hunter and Infected in the city to this location, judging from how loud they are. I decide that I'd rather not stay to find out and get into the truck. I turn it on and back out of the alley, pausing on the street to look back at the store one last time. I sigh and say to myself, "Okay… time to find their camp."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: April's End

Brandon- Ohio

_April 30th, 2034 7:21 AM_

My eye shoots open, evading the nightmares yet again. I sigh heavily after a few seconds, pinching my nose, and climb out from underneath the thin sheet the group gave me as a blanket. The past couple days were spent scouting out the base, and we ran across each other. There are too many Hunters to try and attack on my own, but they're helping me for their own reasons. The Firefly bands are strong deterrents from asking questions about their motives.

It sounds like they're getting everything ready for when reinforcements arrive within the next few hours. We're scheduled to attack almost as soon as they get here, and the Hunter I'm after hasn't left yet, for whatever the reason is. But I'm not complaining; it means Casey is still right there. I snatch the backpack they gave me from the tent corner and step outside.

There are a few Fireflies just to the left of me, including the scout that I met yesterday; I told him about the Hunter camp ahead and he brought me here. He is giving orders to the two others, who are the designated snipers, "Gabriel, you and the stray are leading a flanking team from the forest at the eastern side. Jacob, you are to give support to the main force on the north side. You two understand?"

They both nod, and Gabe turns around like he was going to go wake me. He stops in his tracks when he sees me staring back at him. "Well, looks like you're up early. How much did you hear?" he inquires.

I roll my eyes. "I got what I needed."

"Good, let's get started then."

I start to follow him, but get stopped by the scout. I'm pretty sure his name is Graham. "Listen, you sure you don't want anything in return?" he asks me for the third time. "I mean, you've helped us far more than we can ever repay you. If you didn't warn us, all of us could've died."

I shake my head, smirking. "No…you're helping _me_ more than I can repay you. If anything, I owe you."

Graham tilts his head. "Why?"

"You have your motives, I have mine," I reply gruffly.

The scout shakes his head, laughing, "We're trying to gain access to the Ohio River. It's not something secretive; just expansion."

"Oh…Well, I'm…I'm trying to get back somebody they took from me," I say uneasily; not sure if it came out right without revealing too much.

He dons a look of amusement and snorts, "Let me guess, they're a broad, or somethin' like that, huh?"

"My daughter," I sigh, more disappointed by his attitude than enraged by what he said.

He stops dead in his tracks, and his face changes instantly into sheer guilt. "Oh…Oh, shit. Shit. I'm so fuckin' sorry for that man, I had no-"

"Hey," I cut him off, "You didn't know, and you were trying to make a joke. It's alright, bug."

Graham visibly relaxes, and scratches the back of his head awkwardly, "Truth be told, most of us here aren't Fireflies. We want to settle on the river and the Fireflies agreed to help us if we let them move supplies through our territory." He holds out his hand, as if he wants me shake it, "If you don't find anything wherever you're going, head to Wheeling in West Virginia, and we might be able to help you."

I smile and grab his hand, shaking it firmly, "Thank you."

He's suddenly all business again. "Alright, now back to work."

I nod and turn around, searching for Gabe, and I locate him leaning against the wall of an overgrown gas station a few feet away, an amused look on his face as he waits patiently.

"You ready?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Yeah. I'm ready to go," I nod.

He pulls an extra .308 sniper out of an open crate next to him with a .45 handgun to go with it. "No you're not. You still need these," Gabe says, holding them out to me.

"No, I've taken enough from you already," I say, declining the offer.

He shakes his head. "Take it, they'll probably just rot if you don't. Man and woman that claimed the weapons as payment for something were no-shows for almost a year. Doubt they'll ever show up to get 'em."

I hesitate. "Thanks, but no more handouts."

Gabriel laughs light-heartedly, shaking his head, "Ain't handouts if you're using them to our benefit."

I shrug, mumbling, "Guess that's fair," then grab the rifle, throwing it into the first sling on the backpack before stuffing the pistol into a holster on my leg. Gabe checks the time on a watch he fixed up, then starts jogging. "C'mon, we're scheduled to leave in five minutes," he tells me over his shoulder.

I nod and start jogging to keep pace. "So…you're a Hunter, right?" he asks when I catch up to him.

"S'pose you could say that," I shrug. I am hunting, after all.

"How'd you lose the eye?" He asks, making a show of looking across my face directly into the empty socket.

I respond by simply saying, "None of your concern."

"Okay...how old are you?"

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "Forty-four. What about you?"

"Seventeen," Gabe responds instantly. "Are you married?"

I frown, not sure why he's asking about me personally beyond my age, "Was. Not anymore. Wait- you're seventeen? Jesus Christ, how young do the Fireflies recruit?"

He grins sheepishly, "Youngest I've seen was ten. They try to nab the downtrodden and young 'fore the military can. What happened with your marriage?" I give him a low growl for a response. "Okay, little too much. What about kids?"

I grind to a halt instantly and grab him by his shirt collar before the teen could react. He yelps in surprise but says nothing. "Let me make one thing clear," I snarl, staring right through Gabriel's terrified expression. "Who I am is none of your fuckin' business. My history is none of your business. We are nothing more than one-time business partners. Got it?" He nods rapidly, earning his freedom again.

"Jesus…the fuck was that about?" Gabe gasps, massaging his collarbone.

I ignore his question, and continue to the west entry/exit point for the encampment. Moriarty, Jess, Sam, and the seven other people who I don't give enough of a fuck about to learn their names are probably waiting for us there. Gabe tries to talk to me twice more, but gives up upon realizing he'll get nothing more.

We get close enough to see the team either pacing or chatting quietly to themselves. Jess - a thirty-three year old woman from Chicago - is the first to notice us. "Hey, Gabe and the stray are here. 'Bout time, too," she drawls impatiently.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Let's just go."

Jess blinks, and watches me as I pass. "What's up with him?" she asks Gabe as he passes.

"No clue. I think I said something that pissed him off," he responds meekly, under her glare.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "What'd you say?"

He looks embarrassed as he says, "I asked him if he had any kids…"

Jess cringes visibly and she sounds like she's in physical pain when she finally, "Wow…Gabe, you can't do that. That's the number one thing you don't ask anybody that you even _think_ is older than forty."

"I already got that message. Believe me," Gabriel sighs.

I turn away to hide the smirk spreading across my face and readjust the straps on my pack. Yeah, I'd say I got that across to him pretty clearly.

_Two hours later_

The next two hours pass by uneventfully and painfully slow; but, I'm used to these periods and having jack shit to do in them.

But, I also had my little girl with me before. I'd tell her some nonsense about pre-infection life or read some of Stephen King to her. We had probably read every book I have of his like twenty times, but Cass didn't mind. She probably loved them more than I did.

A tap on my shoulder brings me out of my thoughts and I realize I'm a good fifteen feet behind the others. "Hey, stray, you okay?" Moriarty's thick southern accent invades my ears. I inwardly thank God I wasn't in the South long enough to really get that abrasive drawl. "You, like, blacked out for a minute there or somethin'."

I nod in response, "Yeah…yeah. I'm fine." I don't need to see him to know he's staring at me with pure skepticism. I sigh and scratch my beard, irritated by how questioning the bugs have been today, "Moriarty, I'm fine. Worry about your group, not me."

"Okay. No need to be a dick, just tryin' to be nice," he spits and storms off to join the other Fireflies. I feel bad for how I just treated him, but I don't apologize. Instead, I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans and bend my head. My thoughts drift again, but they're interrupted by a new sound. The rumbling of a car engine.

"Hey!" I bark to the others. They turn to look at me, wondering why I just shouted at them. "I hear a car," I explain. They instantly go into action mode; some go prone and aim towards an overgrown road cutting through the forest. Others duck behind rotted cars or into the undergrowth. I slide into a ditch next to the road we are walking next to and crawl to the edge. I pull the rifle off my backpack and aim down the scope. A car is moving towards us from the road the others are watching. I can't see much of it, but I can tell it is a cream-colored sedan with large splotches of rust covering the body. The thing sounds like it wasn't cared for at all. The thought pisses me off. If you have something as valuable as a car, _you take care of it_.

Suddenly, the car starts swerving violently, but slams to a stop before crashing. I cock my head slightly and frown, confused over the driver's behavior. I zoom in on the car just as somebody gets out of the driver's seat, and I recognize him as the sick fuck who raped Casey. He runs to the back, opens one of the doors, and pulls the limp body of a man out before jumping back in. After a few seconds, he pulls out…

My daughter. She's violently kicking and clawing at the man to get him to release her, but to no avail. He throws her to the ground and delivers a powerful kick to the head. After kicking her head twice more, Casey stops moving. A sickening feeling floods my chest and I watch him take her pulse. A second later, and to my horrified relief, he picks her up and puts her in the trunk of the car.

I snap out of my trance and begin lining up a shot. The Fireflies have been talking quietly to themselves through all this, but I pay no attention. My daughter is right here, and I'll be damned before letting her slip. This could be the one chance I have of getting her back. Somebody starts moving towards me quickly, but I don't react. Instead, I linedup the shot to go through his spine - I want him paralyzed, not dead right now - and start pulling the trigger.

The person coming towards me grabs my gun and moves the barrel just as I fire. "NO!" I roar instantly, and turn to face a wide-eyed uniform. I grab him by the collar and force him to the ground before striking him in the head repeatedly. "I almost had her! I almost fucking had her back!" I roar. My vision is nothing but a sheet of red, and the only things I feel are grief and rage. "She was right there, and you stole her from me!" I punch him a few more times before realizing he's stopped breathing…

_3:02 PM_

Casey- Ohio

I have finally given up on trying to get out of that small, horrible place of heat and darkness I woke up in. Even with the space to kick or push it open, I don't have the strength. Not to mention my blinding headache keeping me from moving much.

There's only a small beam of light just above my nose to light up this place. I follow it back to its origin and freeze at the sight of a bullet hole. I'm almost certain it wasn't there before I was thrown in here. "O-oh my…" I begin hyperventilating and tears sting behind my eyes, "God, please. I-I…d-don't w-want…t-to d-die…" I bury my face in the carpeting and weep. Why did I kill that man? All I did was kill myself, but put the messy part in their hands.

The driver turns sharply to the right to smash my head against the back seat. A sharp wave of pain goes through my head. He brakes instantly and slams my face into the floor. I feel the cartilage in my nose snap and blood cover my face. I taste blood in my mouth, and spit it out, instantly regretting it from the sharp wave of pain filling my temples. I groan and settle for letting a thin trickle escape through my open mouth. The car turns off and the driver's door opens. He chats with the passenger as if execution is nothing out of the ordinary. The trunk pops open and light floods the space. "Wakey, wakey, you little whore," He growls tauntingly and tears me from the trunk.

"N-no! Please-!" I scream as I go down, getting cut off on impact.

"Please what?" He jeers and presses a revolver against my head.

"D-don't k-kill me…" I whimper, trying to cower from the gun.

He hesitates, and leans down close enough for his rancid breath to run down the back of my neck. "It's you or the guy in the passenger seat. Live, or die," he states. "And I'd rather you live than him."


	4. Chapter 4

**UPDATE: Thanks to CT230R for giving me a lot of feedback these past few days. Also, I've decided the entire series will get rewritten, so there's something to look forward to. I've also got a group-written story coming up, but it is not under the Last of Us.**

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><p>Chapter 4: Enslaved<p>

_April 30th, 2034 3:07 PM_

Casey- Ohio

The self-preservation instinct takes over every other part of my brain as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"O-okay… I-I'll kill him."

He laughs and gives me a "congratulatory" pat on the back of the head that lingers way too long. I cringe inwardly as a result of the actions.

"Atta girl!", he praises. He stands and carries me up with him. I alternate standing on my left and right legs to get circulation back to them. He leaves and heads to the car, giving me plenty of time to debate making a beeline for the forest behind the clearing we're in.

But, he didn't give me ample time to do anything stupid. He came back dragging an unwilling boy wearing black cargo pants and a dirty, ripped, sleeveless shirt along with him. The boy looks to be about my age; most likely younger, though and with a more wiry, gaunt build. His blue-gray eyes and dirty blonde hair are almost exact replicas of the man's. In fact, the boy looks almost like a miniature version of him.

So much so that… he could be the man's son. I feel sick at the realization.

"What're you doing?! Get the fuck offa me!" The boy's protests pull me out of the trance.

"Don't you ever say that word to me again!" he snarls, turning around and giving the boy a backhand. The boy cowers from him, earning another backhand, "And don't run from me, you little shit! You are a man, it's time to act like one!"

The boy nods in reply, keeping his face hidden in his hands. His father glares at him for a few seconds before pulling the .38 revolver out of his back pocket. He empties all but one round and tosses it unceremoniously in between me and his son. We make no move for it, and all we do is stand there staring awkwardly at each other and the gun. I thought I could kill him; but he's just so fucking young.

"Well?" The man asks, irritated with the unexplained stall in his entertainment, "Get on with it."

The boy moves first, idiotically putting all his attention on the gun, because I run up and kick him in the jaw just as he grabs it. I drift my attention back to the gun for a second; and he uses that to grab my ankle and pull me down. The impact stuns me and forces the breath out of my lungs for a second and he uses the brief advantage to - again, idiotically - climb on me and punches me in the face three times- they hurt, but weren't as strong as seemingly intended- before I catch his fist and redirect the path so he falls off of me. I roll on top of him and sit on his back.

He thrashes violently in a vain attempt to get me off of him. I grab the back of his head with one hand and bury his face in the dirt. Finding the handle of the revolver with my left hand, I wrap my fingers around it then press the barrel against his ear, pulling back the cocking mechanism with my thumb. He screams one final plea, but not to me. "Da-!"

I cut him off with the bullet before he could finish that damned word.

I slowly rise to my feet and step backwards while staring at the boy no older than me whose life I just ended, the gun hanging limply in my hand before slipping from my grasp.

"He was your son…" I finally manage after a brief silence, "You made me kill your son."

"I made you do nothing. You acted purely on your own accord," the man chortles. He walks up and wraps an arm around my stomach from behind me.

I freeze, terror overwhelming the urge to swat it away.

"You were given a choice between life and death, and you chose life." He gently wraps his free arm around my neck and buries his face in my hair, "Besides- I can easily get another one."

The implicit message in what he says finally gets me to start crying.

"Shhh. Hey, there's no reason to cry," he coos. "What's wrong?"

"I-I…w-want...my d-dad…" I muster out in between sobs.

He laughs light-heartedly, "Is that it? Alright, you can see your father again."

I feel my stomach sink, and the rational part of my brain screams _don't even think about it!_, but the naive child in me wins.

"R-really?" I ask, with a sniffle.

"Sure. Just wait right here, I'll be back in a second."

His presence vanishes and every cell in my body screams for me to run and never look back; but I don't. I just obey like a stupid kid.

My stupidity is confirmed once he grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me towards him before I can react. He lets go of my shoulder and grabs my bottom jaw, squeezing it painfully hard until he forces it open. I let out a small cry for help that, obviously, falls on deaf ears. Well, I shouldn't say that, since he laughs it off.

"Awww, what's wrong? I thought you wanted to be reunited with your daddy," he mocks. I can feel his wolfish smile glaring down at me. I make an attempt to pry his hand off of my jaw that fails horribly.

His other hand finally makes an appearance- waving around a dried-out, dismembered, lime-green eye by the optic nerve.

I scream and try to turn away from Brandon's eye, but his grip is too strong for me to do anything effectively.

He cackles madly and drops the eye in my mouth, closing it before I could spit the eye out. I grimace at the squish it makes when my teeth sink into it and the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. He forces me to chew a few seconds longer before coaxing the morsel of my father down my throat.

He - no, this _thing_; It doesn't deserve the title of a human being - lets me go as it settles in my stomach. I fall to my hands and knees and try to vomit up the eye but only manage to dry heave and cough up a few droplets of blood.

"W-why? Why are you d-doing this? Why me?"

It laughs heartily and crouches next to me, pulling my hair so I have to look him in the eye.

"Because I have control over you," It smiles, revealing crooked, yellowing teeth. "You're mine, and there's nothing anybody can do about."

To prove the point, It rolls me onto my back and sits in between my legs. I try crawling away, but that only draws a chuckle.

"Where do you think you're going?" It asks, pinning me down by my neck with one hand and lifting up the black short-sleeved shirt he made me wear. Knowing what he's going to do next, I close my eyes tightly, not wanting to watch this revolting creature.

"Oh, come on. It's no fun if your eyes are closed. Open them, it won't hurt."

I shake my head, prompting them to grab my forehead and slam my head into the dirt; a small whimper of pain escapes my throat.

"_Open. Your eyes_," It demands.

This time, I comply. It smiles in a twisted, "warm" kind of way and pats my head as reward for obedience. "J-just make it q-quick" I stutter.

It rolls their eyes and ridicules, "I-I c-c-can't h-hear y-you t-t-through y-your s-stutter."

I try repeating myself three times with less of a stutter, but I'm too terrified to properly get rid of it; I give up, my face turning bright red from the humiliation. They briefly laugh at my torment before ordering me to take off the tan cargo shorts and green panties It forced me to wear along with the shirt.

I follow their orders with a feeble whimper, my embarrassment growing worse by the second. Once they're off, It grabs my wrists and pins my arms above my head. It kisses me, and while every part of me wants to gag at the revolting taste; I somehow manage not to, though I can't keep from recoiling slightly in disgust. They pull back from the kiss and, out of nowhere, stands up and begins laughing hysterically.

"Alright, we're done here. Come on, grab your clothes and get in the car," It says casually.

I make no move to get up, and instead just watch It in wary confusion.

"Well, what're you waiting for? Do what you're told."

"Okay…" I respond, cautiously slow. I stand up and straighten my shirt out before scooping up the other clothes, and ask, "C-can I put these back on?"

"Did I say you could?" It scoffs. I look down and shake my head sullenly. They grab my shoulder in a surprisingly gentle manner, which I relax into, and guides me to the car.

I should've known better than let the contact happen; once It opens the door to the back seat, he throws me into the car. I yelp in surprise, but do nothing to try and stop him. What can I do? I hear It laughing at me, and bury my face in the seat cushion to hide my embarrassment.

"Relax, I'm not doing anything. I just don't want you doing anything stupid," It says, finally done laughing, and climbing on me. They tied my wrists together using duct tape and close the back door before moving up to the front, intentionally grinding their heel across my cheek. I barely keep from crying out in pain. But, I do it; mainly by focusing on the relief that they're not going to rape me again. Well, not yet, at least.

"W-where are we going?" I ask, stuttering on the first word, but managing to correct the rest of the sentence.

It sighs and wrings its hands against the wheel, "Suppose telling you won't do too much harm. I have a camp not too far from here. We'll be stopping there for the next few days. Have you ever gone into cities beyond suburbs?"

"N-no…" We didn't go directly into cities; just suburbs. Akron was supposed to be a safe haven, somewhere we could settle down and breathe. Hell, I was supposed to learn to read. "W-why?"

"Well, you're going to love it. Believe me."


	5. Chapter 5

**UPDATE: There's a couple things I'm going to address before the chapter. First, there's a few terms I've created that I'd like to define.**

**Nomads: Small group (2-5 people) or a lone person that travels often**

**Stray: Firefly/Military slang for Nomads**

**Drifter: Hunter/Survivor slang for Nomads**

**Encampment: A small settlement. (5-15 people)**

**The next thing I'd like to talk about is the lack of feedback. I'm not going to threaten to quit writing it or anything like that. I enjoy doing this too much. But, a few words of advice or a comment every now and then would be greatly appreciated. I've also worked incredibly hard on this chapter, and it's the longest chapter I've written yet, so it'd be fantastic to get some feedback on it.**

**Also, the next 1-3 chapters will be taking a break from this part of the story, as an important event happens in this one, and I feel it's a perfect time to reopen part of the story.**

**And finally, I'd like to address that with Brandon and Casey's parts in C3 and C4, there is a time gap of about five hours between them. To help with any confusion in the future in regards to time gaps, the time of day will be included in the date from now on.**

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><p>Chapter 5: Ocelot<p>

_May 5th, 2034 4:37 AM_

Brandon- Ohio

"I can't recall much of these past few days," I say. "I can't remember when I last slept - let alone had a good night's sleep. All I remember is the hopelessness."

Malcolm, the leader of a twelve-man Encampment supposedly not too far from here, looks on as I yawn and rub the exhaustion out of my eye. I don't know what that nameless hunter did with it, and I don't really want to know, but that sick fuck's words haven't given me much comfort.

"_I'm sure we'll reunite you with your daughter._"

"The hopelessness of what?" he inquires in a scratchy, monotone voice after a small pause. His steel-gray eyes glare at me from across the fire I built just five minutes before he stumbled across me in this abandoned gas station, his expression as metallic as his eye color.

"My daughter and I ran into a group of Hunters on our way into Akron," I sigh, staring at my hands clasped together between my legs, shuddering at the memory. "We thought there was some sort of safe zone there. They got me after they knocked me out, but my daughter got away. I don't know how long it took, but they eventually got her. The Hunters brought us to a clearing in the middle of a forest along with another group they caught. They… they cut the others' throats, and their leader cut my eye out. But they did something much, much worse."

Tears begin spilling down my cheeks as I continue. "Their leader had me tied to a stake and forced me to watch as he…as he raped her. He raped her in front of me, and then took her away."

Malcolm becomes silent for a long time before he speaks. "I think I know where your daughter is. What direction were they going in?" he finally asks, as he stands up and wraps a tawny leather jacket around himself.

"What?" My attention snaps back to him immediately, and I urgently go through my head. "Uh…south…southwest. They went southwest."

"They're most likely in Columbus then. 'Bout a day's walk south of Mansfield," he says, throwing his backpack over his shoulders.

"Are you sure?" I ask, tilting my head slightly, wondering how he'd know so quickly.

He nods. "City used to be a Quarantine Zone, but now it's just a sort of trading post. The group that currently runs it will let anything get traded as long as they get a cut: guns, ammo, clothes, food…" he hesitates before adding. "People."

My stomach drops at the word. "He's going to sell my daughter?" I choke out.

"Can't say anything for certain, but most likely. Wouldn't be the first time a missing girl turns up at the slave auction," Malcolm states, sounding a lot like he speaks from experience.

"How do I get her back?"

"There's not a chance in hell you'll get her back, drifter. The entire fort is armed to the teeth," he laughs, and starts walking away.

Before the knot forming in my stomach can get any worse, I stand up and kick dirt over the fire to put it out, scoop up my backpack and jog after him. "Can you help me?" I ask, slowing to a walk as I catch up.

He laughs even harder. "My group ain't getting involved in a drifter's problems."

"What can I do then?" I demand with a glare.

"Let her go. She's not coming back to you," Malcolm replies, looking at me like the answer is obvious. My glare intensifies and he starts walking uncomfortably when he notices it.

"That's it? That's your fucking advice?! Just let my daughter be enslaved?!" I growl at the outrageous suggestion, my voice rising in anger until I'm shouting so loud it hurts to breathe. When he doesn't answer, I stop and grab his shoulders roughly, spinning him to face me. "ANSWER ME!"

"Hey!" he barks in surprise. "I don't give a rat's ass what you do; I'm just saying what will let you, and your daughter most likely, live longer. Feel free to disobey my advice all you want, but my group isn't giving you any help. It's too dangerous, and I will not have them risk their lives for nothing."

I'm about to resume shouting at him again, but stop before anything can come out. Malcolm's right, his group has everything to lose and nothing to gain by fighting. I can't ask them to risk their lives for only my benefit.

"Fine," I say, "I don't need your help. Have a good life, Malcolm." Reluctantly, I release him and head off in the opposite direction of his camp. I hear him sigh behind me, but don't turn to face him.

"Look, man. For whatever it's worth, if I was on my own, I would help you," he says.

I roll my eyes and unceremoniously flip him off without turning around. "Go fuck yourself!" I call back, not caring if those are my last words to him. It'll probably be on the shit end of a gun barrel if I see him again. Though I'm not sure who'd be on the shit end, and who'd get to live.I keep the finger up until the overgrown forest at the abandoned gas station's edge completely envelopes me. A twig snaps somewhere in front and to the right of me, and instantly my hands go to the .45 pistol in my back pocket.

"Before you pull a gun on me," a man says, coming out of the brush with his hands in the air, "you should hear what I have to offer."

I hesitate for a second, unsure whether to trust a man who just stumbled across me. Keeping one hand resting on the cool handle of my pistol, I look him over. He's a black man, probably just a couple years older than me; with gray-streaked, curly black hair. He has on a woodland MARPAT uniform tucked into a pair of combat boots and a kevlar vest strapped tightly to his frame. There's an assault rifle on his back and two filled holsters - one on his belt with a suppressed Glock stuffed sloppily into it by the appearance, and one on his vest with a .44 revolver in it. If he wants me dead, it would've happened already.

"Make it quick," I growl, relaxing only slightly. Surprise dances across his eyes briefly, and he starts lowering his hands. I pull my .45 out in an instant. "Keep your fucking hands up, or I'll shoot!"

He freezes. He begins speaking in short, slow sentences, "Okay. Not moving my hands. I need your help. I'm Abraham. Who are you?"

"Brandon," I say, not in the mood for arguing over names. Besides, if he needs my help, I can get his. "What is it?"

He hesitates, looking down at his feet before continuing; explaining in a single sentence. "My son was bitten."

Oh. He's just another parent who can't bear putting their child down. I lower the pistol, feeling guilty for my aggressiveness. "Oh. Where is he?"

His shoulders drop in relief and he lowers his hands. "Follow me. And stay alert, there's a group of Hunters in the area," he orders, as he turns around and begins walking.

"Great…" I sigh, more annoyed than pissed at the prospect of fighting.

Abraham laughs in response. "We can sneak by them. There's only four."

"That's four people who are potential threats. I don't leave potential threats," I state, glaring at him to emphasize there is no compromise. If I were with Casey, I would've been sure of them being killed before even thinking of moving on.

"Alright," he shrugs nonchalantly. "No need to get angry."

We cut through the two-mile stretch of woodland, coming out - along with the morning sun - in a dilapidated, ramshackle neighborhood that looks ripe as an ambush point. The only thing missing is a giant sign above Abraham and I saying, 'WE ARE COMPLETELY VULNERABLE! ATTACK NOW!' From the look on Abraham's face, he feels it too. Well, at least I can confirm that he's not leading me into a trap.

"We're completely exposed out here. We need to get inside," I say quietly, breaking the tense silence the scene had thrown over us.

He nods his assent and pulls the rifle off of his back. "I'll take the lead; just stay alert and watch my back. He's just down the street."

I pull the handgun out of my back pocket again and fall in line behind him. The first place we mentally agree is acceptable - a partially burnt down house draped with vines - is where we stop. It's not much, but we'll have more cover than dirt and leaves if anybody tries something.

"What's in it for me?" I ask, crossing my arms and leaning against the most stable part of the wall.

Abraham looks at me in confusion for a second before it clicks. "Well, what do you want in return?"

I don't need to think. "There's a group in Columbus, 'bout a da-"

"I'm well aware of the distance and the group," he interrupts while looking outside through a dust covered window.

"They have my daughter," I say in a deadpan tone. That gets his attention and he turns to face me. "And I'll need your help to get her out of there."

"Deal," he agrees immediately.

"That was fast," I scoff.

"You're doing something needed so my son doesn't suffer; the least I can do is to help you get your daughter back," he explains. Something in the window draws his attention, and his whole body goes rigid. "Oh shit. Brandon, get over here!"

I push off the wall and glide to the window, peering through as I crouch next to it. A pickup truck has parked outside of a house past an intersection down the street and two people are standing guard next to it.

"That's where my son is," he says in a hushed tone.

I wouldn't be too concerned if they kill him, but putting the boy down is my ticket into Columbus. I can't let them kill the boy.

I pull the hunting rifle off my back and watch the scene unfold through the scope in a tense silence. A Hunter comes out of the house and leans on a fence surrounding the porch. He faces the door with a shotgun in his hands, but he hasn't shouldered it and his finger is resting on the trigger. They chat with the other two for a couple minutes; then another Hunter walks out, followed by another. And in between them is Abraham's son; they've tied his hands behind his back, but they didn't gag him.

I'd laugh at them for their fatal mistake, but I'm not at all in the mood. Abraham's son needs to die, but he needs to die by my hands. I center the crosshairs on his head and whisper, "I've got a shot on your boy."

Abe exhales shakily and says his goodbye in a voice so quiet I have to strain to hear. "Take it," he says in a slightly louder voice, accompanied by a rustling sound as he pulls the M16 off his back.

The crack from my shot fills the air and the boy drops a second later, a pink mist blossoming out behind. The five Hunters jump in surprise and search for where the shot came from. I smile at the panic stretched across their stupid faces and load another round. They posed a threat to Casey; they don't get to go home.

I center it on one's chest- only to watch it explode with red in sync with the gunshots from Abraham's rifle. I shrug noncommittally and switch targets to the next guy, some idiot standing in the open with a baseball bat. I put one in his neck and scan the truck and house for another one, but I don't have an angle on any of them.

A flicker of movement in one of the houses in my scope catches my attention, and I turn to look at it. Then, the glare of a scope shines through a window. I glide to my right just as a bullet takes my place. Abraham moves behind his half of the wall and I creep along my half of it until I get to a window in the adjacent room. I have a better angle on him, and he can't see either of us.

I aim and fire. The sniper goes down and one of the three from earlier pop back out. Before I can kill him too, somebody grabs me from behind. I step on his foot, twisting around just as his arm descends carrying a shiv. I grab his wrist and shoulder before he can stab me. He tries prying my hand off his shoulder and inadvertently gives me a window to knee him in the stomach a few times. I twist around so that I'm behind him, and my hand around his wrist moves to pin the shiv inside his hand. I grab his bottom jaw and force his head back. He gives some effort to try to drop the shiv or get it away from his neck, but fails in the end.

I let him drop as I hear the sounds of a struggle from Abe's side. I turn to see a Hunter and Abraham fighting over the assault rifle. But before I can paint the wall with the fucker's brain, a round goes through my leg. I stumble and yelp in surprise and anger before hugging the wall. I drop to my knees and grab my rifle. After making sure it didn't discharge, I aim out at the street and see a Hunter aiming right back at me. I quickly center the crosshairs on his head and pull the trigger. Immediately after his head mushrooms out. The muzzle of his rifle releases a flash just before the round struck; I hear the whistling of a bullet and something smash into my shoulder. "Fuck!" I hiss in pain, and throw my rifle over my back. I pull a bandage out of my coat pocket and wrap the wound.

"No, wait! Please don't fucking kill me, man!"

The plea brings my attention back to Abraham and the final Hunter. The Hunter is on the ground crawling away from Abraham, who is standing over him with the barrel of his M16 pointed right between his eyes. Abraham hesitates for a second, then pulls the trigger. We stand there in silence for a few moments, listening for anymore Hunters to make themselves known to us.

"We're clear," he says finally, tossing the rifle over his shoulder.

I pull out another bandage and wrap my thigh. After failing to put some weight on it, I pull my rifle out and use it as a crutch. Abraham breaks the remnants of the window we both shot out of and vaults out. I limp after him and stumble out the window. Pain flashes through my injured leg when I land on it and I collapse with a howl of agony.

"Holy shit, man!" Abraham exclaims, leaning down and helping me up. "What the hell happened?"

"Aaaggh - I got shot in the fuckin' leg." I nudge him aside once I'm up and limp forward. "I can still walk. I don't need to lean on you."

"Okay," he says, backing up. I limp to the truck with Abraham sticking close to me. I'm grateful for his concern, but don't show it.

I start getting in the passenger seat, but stop when I see Abe standing over his son. Damn, the boy couldn't have been any older than Casey. Hesitantly, I go over to him.

"Do you want me to bury him?" I ask gently, knowing full well what's happening in his mind right now.

"No…" he mumbles. After a few more seconds, he turns to me, "Come on. We still have to get your daughter back."

_10:18 PM_

I watch the city from one of the highways weaving around it, a look of grim determination displayed across my face. Massive, but crumbling and overgrown concrete walls surround the city. I sigh. Why couldn't fucking FEDRA have made this easier for me? Fortunately, in the time since the zone was abandoned, the spotlights have stopped working.

Footsteps approach, but I don't turn to them, already knowing from their sound that they're Abraham's. "You're late," I growl.

"Hunters everywhere. I ran into at least four patrols on the way back," he explains. "Also, I got you this."

He tosses something to me and I catch it with one hand. It's a brown scrap of leather with a thread running through it. "An eyepatch?" I say, looking up at him, "I've already told you that I've cauterized it." It isn't a lie; I intentionally lit my own face on fire. Either that or risk an infection just inches from my brain.

"It isn't for you. It's so people don't have to look at your empty eye socket when talking to you"

"Whatever, man," I sigh, putting the eyepatch on. "What'd you find?"

"The River Gate is barren of Hunters, but there's Infected all over the damn place," he informs me. "That's probably our best bet, though."

"Dammit. You're certain?"

He scoffs and stands next to me with his arms folded, "Unless you want to deal with Hunters armed to the teeth with military gear, yes."

I wish we had more time to scout, but Abraham told me the next auction is tomorrow. After that, there's no way I'll ever see my daughter again. My shoulders drop and I mutter, "Okay, I'm ready."

_11:34 PM_

Casey- Ohio

I limp down the dingy staircase into a warehouse basement that serves as one of the God-knows-how-many slave houses they have. My entire body aches after the hell I was put through today. After being groped and harassed mercilessly by a shitload of pedophiles or idiots too drunk to notice my age and being forced to enjoy it at some sort of party - I think it was to celebrate another year without military control in the zone - It decided I'd have to 'service', as he calls it, five people. Not all at once, thank God.

An explosion in the distance gently rocks the building. I ignore it, thinking a couple drunks have decided to blow some shit up… hopefully themselves. Besides, I'm too tired to really do anything about it. I spend a few seconds when I reach the bottom, mentally debating over whether to just go to bed or at least clean my face off first.

Deciding I won't be able sleep with this shit on my face, I sigh and head to one of the water buckets that, supposedly, has the word 'WASH' written on it. I grab the coarse rag covered in the fresh blood of its prior user and let it submerge in the water for a few seconds, before taking it out and wringing it a few times. After putting the rag on my forehead, I let out an involuntary moan as the cool fabric alleviates some of the pain. I wipe it up and down my face a couple times, ignoring the scratchiness and focusing on the relief before discarding it next to the bucket.

"Tough day, huh?"

I hear Cheyenne's gentle, motherly tone to my right, and turn to look over at her. She was one of the first of the group's other slaves that I met here; the first to give a fuck about me. She's leaning against the wall, arms folded over her chest and wearing the outfit typically associated with the laborers (apparently, It doesn't use slaves only to fuck; I was just "lucky" enough to be given the role of service-girl. Fancy way of calling me a housemaid and whore) - a plain black T-shirt, and jeans tucked into a pair of utility boots.

I stand up and lean against the wall, dragging my hands down my face. "You have no idea."

She smiles sympathetically. "How many?" she asks, and grimaces as I hold up five fingers. "Oh, fuck… no pun intended."

"Yeah, right," I chuckle as a smile spreads across my face. "You fuckin' meant that."

Cheyenne lowers and shakes her head, smiling. There's another explosion and her gaze shoots back up, frowning. "Somethin' ain't right."

"Probably just some drunks," I reply.

"No, if it's some drunks, they would've been arrested after the first one went off. There's something happening."

_11:37 PM_

Brandon- Ohio

"Fuck!" I shout, barely dodging the bullet flying by my head.

Abe and I just had the great fortune of running into a two-man patrol leaving the city right as we got to the wall, and I load a second grenade into the underbarrel launcher on the assault rifle I picked up off of a corpse inside an Infected nest.

I get out of cover for a second to fire. The round overshoots the rifleman in front of me, but hits the wall behind him. He takes aim at my head again, but a large chunk of shrapnel from the blast kneecaps him. He goes down, but the screaming and wailing says he's still alive. The other Hunter pops out of cover to the man's right, only for Abraham to cut him down in a hail of gunfire.

I pull the machete I found in the five Mansfield Hunters' truck off my backpack and call to Abraham, "He's mine! Watch for Infected!"

"Okay!" he responds.

I walk up to the crate the Hunter's behind, and see him quickly wrapping his leg. An M9 is laying right next to him, and we react at the same time; his hand darts out to grab it, but I kick it behind myself before he grabs it. "That won't be necessary," I inform him in a solemn tone.

"Wha-what do you want?" he stammers, beginning a hopeless attempt at crawling away by kicking and pulling his body along with one hand while putting his free arm up in a defensive position.

I pin him with my free hand to the crate and press the tip of the machete to his stomach. He grabs my arm with both hands and tries meekly to push it away. "Is there a man named" - I pause, searching my memory for the name - "Alex in your city?"

"There's several." His voice is shaking and his eyes are filled with fear.

I roll my eyes at my own stupidity. Alex ain't exactly a rare name. "Anorexic-looking motherfucker that abducted my daughter and looks like he belongs in a crowd doing the _Sieg Heil _salute?"

It takes a second to register. "H-Hawken? Yeah, he's here..." His eyes suddenly widen, "Wait - that's _your_ daughter he took in?"

I hear Abraham running from his position. "Make it quick; we got Infected on the way!" he shouts, and I start hearing the telltale cries.

"I got what I needed," I tell Abe, and push the machete into the Hunter. It cuts through the crate and gets stuck inside. Not wanting to spend precious time trying to wriggle it out, I leave it inside his writhing body and get up to follow Abe to the hole in the wall the patrol came out of. The cries of the Infected get closer and I turn around to see the entire horde from the riverside charging towards us.

"Holy fucking shit, Abe, we've got to fucking move!" I shout, breaking into a sprint. He turns around, sees the horde, then makes a beeline for the hole with me right on his heels, and we slip in between a decaying pallet and the wall.

"Cover that hole!" he orders once I'm inside.

I push the pallet over the hole and step back, watching it nervously while I catch my breath. "That ain't…gonna…hold."

"Yeah…I know," Abraham nods.

I perk up at a noise close by. I focus my hearing on it, and discover two Hunters walking towards the room from down the hallway having a conversation. "Two more," I whisper to Abe, just as the Infected begin trying to push through. I get an idea.

"Hide, let them kill each other."

Abe doesn't need to weigh the options to know it's our only chance. He looks around before settling for the inside of an empty crate. After curling up inside, he slides the top over himself. I claim the space underneath a pile of spare mattresses and cover my entry with one of them.

The Hunters round the corner into the room and freeze when they see the pallet cracking under the weight of the Infected. "What the…" one begins, but gets cut off by a writhing mass of flesh as the Infected break through. His eyes widen and he quickly pulls the shotgun off his back. "INFECTED!" he screams at the top of his lungs and fires into them.

The other pulls out an Avtomat Kalashnikova 1974 and waits for the shotgunner to back up and reload before emptying a thirty round clip into the horde. "There's too fucking many!" he cries before spinning around and trying to flee.

The shotgunner gets distracted by the rifleman's betrayal. "Wait-!" he starts, but the rest of the mini-horde is on him before he can finish. Only about five get him though; the rest follow the rifleman.

I suppress the guilt at the possibility of my causing the city to become overrun by focusing on the fact they're slavers, and pull a molotov out of my backpack and a Bic lighter out of my right pocket. After pushing the mattress aside and crawling out, I light the rag and begin the arduous process of trying to aim with my non-dominant hand and eye. I throw it, praying I didn't overshoot them. The molotov lands hard on the dead man's vest and breaks; setting all five Runners alight.

Instead of checking to see if any others heard the crash or their screams, I immediately pull a long, slightly rusted, metal cart from outside the wall and block the hole off with it. After stacking a few boxes for good measure, I give Abraham an all clear.

He climbs out of the box and whistles when he sees the aftermath; there's at least twenty Infected dead or dying in a rough cone extending from the hole out towards the center of the room. "Damn. And they still got overrun?" he asks. I can't blame the surprise in his tone, or the tiny cough as he speaks; on the other side of the room the smell of charred cordyceps mixed with burnt flesh releases a rancid odor that probably shouldn't be breathed in.

"Yeah," I say slowly, once again mesmerized by the sheer power of the Infected. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and remember he's still in the dark about the mission's current status. "The man who took Casey - my daughter - is here. So chances are she's here."

"Alright," he nods, "how do you want to do this?"

I think about it for a second, then say, "We split up. I'll look for her captor, and you're gonna search the city for my daughter."

I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out a folded, torn, and faded Polaroid photo of Casey and I taken about three years ago, which I've held on to it ever since. Hell, I've practically cried myself to sleep - whenever I have been able to sleep - these past seven days staring at it; thankfully, the group in Akron didn't take it.

She had turned ten when we met a man in his early thirties with the camera outside the shell of an amusement park. After some bartering with Casey (I had to tell her one thing about her mother and describe what it was like going to one of the parks), I managed to convince her that trading a _small_ can of expired beans for the picture wouldn't hurt us. The picture is of the two of us sitting next to each other on a bench in front of the park; I'm wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer to me, and her head is resting on my shoulder as well. My beard was a bit more scraggly then, and my brown, already graying hair was slightly longer. The wrinkles around my eyes weren't as deep, either. She had a smile plastered onto her incredibly pale, freckled face that said she had only haggled with me so she could learn more about my life prior to just the two of us. Her dark brown hair poured down the half of her head closer to me, covering one of her sky blue eyes.

"She looks almost identical to herself in that picture; though she has lost most of the little kid fat," I say, wiping the tears forming in my eye at the memory as I hand the picture to Abe, who nods and gently takes it before I continue. "We meet at the truck on the highway. If I'm not there by noon tomorrow, go to Wheeling."

I pause and glare at him. "If Casey is hurt in any way…" I say, trailing off when I'm not able to put what will happen to him in words.

Then I remember our safe word. Haven't had to use it since she learned how to shoot when she was six, but it's all he'd have to get her to trust him.

_12:45 AM_

This is it. The dog fucker I'm hunting down has shown himself to me. All that is keeping me from killing him are the five Hunters surrounding him.

But they should be dealt with shortly, as all six are walking right into the two-story office building I've set up my overwatch in. The doors are rigged with pipe bombs I found on a Hunter-turned-Happy Meal as well as a new, sharper and better maintained machete than the one I lost. Along with the explosives, there are a couple of Clickers wandering around in here aimlessly. I almost killed them three times; the first was when I got inside, before I realized they might be useful in killing at least one of the Hunters; the second was when I turned around to go upstairs after setting the last explosive, and one of them was standing right behind me. I'm not ashamed to admit that I nearly shit myself. The third time is right now - the ceaseless clicking is giving me a headache and I'm about to shove an active pipe bomb down each of their throats to shut them up.

I hear the front door open and hear a couple of the Hunters chatting with each other…before a blast cuts off their conversation and rattles the floor beneath me. A Clicker gets excited by the noise and goes to investigate, and one of the Hunters caught in the explosion who didn't die right away coughs out, "Infec-!" just before it's on him.

The sound of a shotgun being fired signals the Clicker's end. "Who the fuck set an explosive inside the wall?!" one shouts at the remaining three. They howl in pain suddenly, and I realize I forgot about the second one. I smirk, wishing for a working video camera I could've set up to record their reactions as they move through the place of their deaths. But, I'll have to settle for seeing the aftermath of those three at least.

A chorus of gunfire erupts and they argue with each other shortly before coming inside; my cue to head down. I crawl towards a hole on the other side of the building and drop down as silently as possible. It takes me a second to locate the Hunters, but I only find two. That is, until the third grabs my shoulder. "Hey! What the fuck are you doing outside?" he demands. "Don't you know the area's on lockdown?"

So much for surprise. I elbow him in the stomach, bringing a sharp gasp of pain from him. I swing around and elbow him again in the side of the head - mainly accidentally - while grabbing my machete. In one fluid motion, I pull it out of its sheath and bring it down on his head. He lets out a gurgled cry and spazzes violently for a second before going still.

"Oh, shit! Raider, over here!" the one next to a printer cries as he opens fire, missing me by the width of the entire continent in all three shots. I pry the machete out of the dead Hunter's head before slipping behind a file cabinet, simultaneously putting my gas mask on and pulling out a can of tear gas. I'd just shoot them in the head, but I want to look Hawken in the eye as he chokes to death on his own blood.

With that in mind, I pull the pin and roll the tear gas towards the two Hunters. They don't notice it until the can pops, and one stumbles into the printer, coughing wildly. I take the machete back out and charge at him. He regains his composure just as I grab him. I smash his face into the printer and flip him onto his back.

Not the one I want. I press the blade against his stomach and drive it up into his heart.

The final one wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me towards him. I grab his arm and lean forward while pulling it off my neck. I flip him over me, then stomp on his nose. He shrieks and clutches his broken nose.

"Get the fuck up!" I snarl, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him into a wall. He moves his arms into a defensive position, giving me good look at his ferret-like features and blue-gray eyes.

"Please, man, you don't want to do this!" he cries. His voice is all the confirmation I needed.

I grin wolfishly and peel the gas mask off. "Remember me, asshole?"

Hawken's expression goes from fear to the most hilarious-to-look-at terror I've ever seen. "Y-you're still alive?" he laughs uneasily. "Th-that's fucking great, man! How's the eye?"

I punch his cheek hard and he drops. "Little hard to see out of, but it's okay. That ain't why I'm here, though."

A look of dread envelopes his entire face and he stutters. "L-look man, i-if this is about the girl-"

I clap sarcastically. "Bravo! It took you that fucking long to figure out why you're about to die?"

His mask of dread and terror worsens and he begins pleading, "Wait, please don't kill me! I'll- I'll give you back your daughter, and you two will never hear from me again! I- I promise!"

I pull out my .45 and kneecap him with a bullet. He screams and clutches his now useless leg. "But where's the justice for my little girl in that situation?" I answer him coldly. If I was stupid, and didn't have anybody searching for her, I might've taken the deal. I leave him there while I go over to the printer to pull the machete out of the deceased Hunter.

When I turn around, I can't hold back my laughter at the weakest, most futile effort at crawling away I've ever seen. Instead of just killing him, I stand next to him and encourage his effort."C'mon, buddy. You're almost there. Just a little bit further now." Once the scene loses its novelty, I step on his back and pin him down. "Oh, you were so close. Honestly, you fucking dipshit, did you really think that you'd get away?"

"Either let me go or kill me already!" he spits, trying to sound tough through the tremor in his voice. But, anybody can tell it's just a facade.

"Well," I sigh as I get off of him, grabbing the back of his shirt collar and holding the machete out behind him. "If you insist."

I pull him to his knees and through the machete. He screams in agony and I take the machete out. Not satisfied with the single stabbing, I run it through his stomach again and again. After the fifth stab, I circle around to his front and rest the blade against his neck before pulling it back towards myself.

He lets out one final 'Wait-!' before the machete comes back down and goes clean through his neck.

I sigh contentedly and step back, admiring my work. _Now_, I say to myself, _Now it's all up to Abraham_.

_2:23 AM_

Casey- Ohio

Cheyenne presses me against her even harder - if it's even possible to do that - when the Hunter saunters into the apartment. Infected apparently broke through the wall close to the warehouse I was housed in and It ordered a district lockdown. Nobody except the guards are supposed to be out during a district lockdown - this one has been in place since midnight, but we had to wait an hour before we could try to get out of the warehouse. I would've stayed in there, but Cheyenne gave an excellent sales pitch about how 'this could be our one shot at leaving the city'.

"Stay quiet, Casey," she whispers.

I hear his heavy footsteps encircle the entire room before moving towards the center. He stops for a second and fumbles around with something on his vest. Something clicks and a beam of light cuts across the room.

"Casey. I know you're in here," the man says, sighing heavily.

I freeze. How the _fuck_ does he know my name? "I saw you and the woman run in here," he continues. "It's okay. I'm here to help you."

I remain silent until he says something that shatters my entire world.

"Ocelot."

There's no way. Brandon's dead, I fucking _ate him_. But, how else would he know our safe word? Without thinking, I pry myself out of Cheyenne's grip and shoot up.

"Where is he?" I demand, folding my arms.

The man spins to face me, shining the flashlight right in my eyes. He moves it out of my eyes, mumbling an apology. His volume increases when he speaks again, "He's hunting down the man who abducted you. He wants me to get you out of here."

My heart skips a beat. Not only is he alive, but he's here.

"Where can I find him?"

"He wants you out of the city as soon as possible," the man says, shaking his head instantly,

"No," I say trying to make it as obvious as possible that I'm not compromising. "If Brandon is not only alive but here, I'm fucking looking for him."

But he still shakes his head. "Your father wants you out of harm's way. You'll see him again, I promise." He pauses to think before continuing, "the woman… what's her name?"

I stare at him for a few seconds before relenting, "Cheyenne…"

"Well if you come with me, Cheyenne can come, too."

Fuck. He's pinned another person's life on me. If it's just me, I could go find Brandon. But I can't just put anyone's freedom or even life on the line - especially Cheyenne's. "Fine," I sigh, giving in. "Cheyenne, get up."

She crawls out from under the desk and I can feel her glaring at me as she stands.

"Do you realize how big of a risk you just took?"

"Yes, Cheyenne," I sigh in exasperation, "But he knows our safe word. Only somebody Brandon or I have told would know it."

She pinches her nose. "Okay. Just…be more careful next time, alright?"

"Alright." Annoyance is laced deep in the word, but I mean it. I look back to the man, "So, does our brave hero have a name?" I can tell Cheyenne is rolling her eyes without looking at her, and the man simply sighs.

"Abraham," he answers, and after looking us over individually for a few seconds, asks, "do either of you have a weapon?"

"If we did," Cheyenne responds, before I can speak, "you would've been dead when we first saw you."

Abraham says nothing in response. Instead, he pulls a pistol out of a holster on his leg and hands it grip-first to Cheyenne. She takes it without saying anything and he turns to me, pulling a revolver off his torso. "Can you shoot?" he asks.

I roll my eyes and take it from him. "I learned how when I was six."

He sighs and squeezes my shoulder. "Your father is going to be fine. You'll see him again, I promise."

If looks could kill, Abraham would've died the most agonizing death humanly possible the second he grabbed me. "Get the fuck off of me before I shoot you in the fucking throat," I growl. His hand disappears and he studies me for a few seconds like he's trying to understand the hostility.

Cheyenne coughs awkwardly, as if she doubts this is the right time for her to speak, "If you two are done, I'd really like to get out of here now."

_6:40 AM_

How I've managed to stay awake as long as I have I will never know. Exhaustion made it nearly impossible for me to walk about fifteen minutes after Abe found us. Because of this, he had to carry me unless we were trying to kill or evade a patrol. The result: it took us three hours more than it should have to get out of the city.

"Hey, Casey," Abe grunts as we approach a ramp. "It's just up this ramp, think you can manage this distance?"

"Yeah," I mumble, almost too tired to form a coherent word. He sets me down and I take a few experimental steps. Confident that I can keep my balance, I start following him. Cheyenne notices that I am trailing behind him or stumbling like a drunk; she moves to my side to place a stabilizing hand on my shoulder. I glance at her to show my appreciation, as I can't find the energy to say thanks or nod.

She smiles warmly and says, "I'm sure your dad will be there. If he fought tooth and nail to track you down; there's no reason he'd wait any longer than necessary to see you."

As if on cue, the voice I haven't heard for seven days, and prayed to hear again every second of them cuts through the air ahead of us.

"Abraham, that woman looks nothing like my daughter."

I peek out from behind Abe and look up at the top of the ramp and see him standing there, looking down at us. The only difference in his appearance - other than the bloody white hoodie and black undershirt instead of a gray thermal - is the patch over his right eye. I can barely swallow my guilt for what I did.

For a second, I'm confused as to how he didn't see me, but then I realize that Abraham is blocking me from Brandon's view. Still, all I feel is happiness that not only is he alive, but he's here with me again. My energy somehow returns and I pull out of Cheyenne's grasp and slip by Abraham. Even with the distance, I can still see elation and relief run through him when he finally sees me alive and well.

"Brandon!" I cry with happiness and feel tears stinging behind my eyes.

He returns the cry, albeit using my name, and runs to me as well. When we meet, I practically tackle him while hugging him at the same time. He wraps his arms around me and squeezes tightly.

"Don't you dare call me anything other than dad ever again," he whispers in my ear, and I can hear tears in his voice as well.

I nod, burying my face into the fabric of his shirt and weeping, "H-he made me…" I trail off, not wanting to tell him the horrid thing I did. "I- I thought you were dead!" I wail into his chest.

He cradles the back of my head with one hand, pressing my face deeper into the fabric of his shirt and stroking my hair. His other hand moves up and down my back soothingly, "Sshhh...shh. I'm still here Casey," he comforts.

"I'm still alive."


	6. Chapter 6

You've heard all the excuses by this point, so I won't burden you with them; just know I'm sorry.

New term:

State: A group large enough to own multiple settlements (120+ people), or multiple groups working towards a common goal

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: The Wolves<p>

_May 6th, 2034 9:30 AM_

Karl Himmel- Casper, Wyoming

I repeatedly flip the stiletto around in my hand to pass the time before he arrives. I almost feel bad for the poor guy strapped to the chair in the middle of the room, but he put our forces at a major disadvantage with his carelessness. I look down at him from my perch at the top of a bookcase in the corner and find him glaring at me. I scoff and shake my head slightly at his defiance.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" he demands.

I speak, my English still heavily slurred by an accent despite not living in _Deutschland_ for twenty years, "I'm not the one interrogating you.

"Who is, then?"

As if on cue, he walks in, shockingly silent for a seven-foot-tall giant with the build of a grizzly bear. Vasily Aristov, the _Al'fa Volk_.

I don't know much about his past, save for that he was born somewhere in the then-Soviet Union and was a rather successful Spetsnaz operative. But I know his present. It's bad enough that most of his followers view him as a sort of god, but add to that his intelligence and brutality, and that's what scares me. He's used both to forge the superpower he now runs. We're called the Wolves, or the _Volki_, by outsiders for our tactics of "scattering the herd". FEDRA and the Fireflies call us the Proletariats or Proletarian Union for the communist-style government set up in our territory; we're responsible for the liberation of over thirty Quarantine Zones, including the biggest seven in the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains.

The smuggler doesn't hear him; Vasily announces his presence by calling to me in near-perfect English.

"Cat, what the fuck are you doing up there?"

I roll my eyes at the supposed-to-be-insulting nickname and slink back to the floor. "Took you long enough," I growl.

The man in the chair turns around just enough to see Vasily in his peripheral, and goes bone-white from fear. "_A-al'fa_? Wha-"

"Cut the shit. You know why I'm here, and why you're here," he snaps, glaring at the man with pure contempt.

"Th-the Fireflies b-boarded the ferry and took us all hostage. If I didn-"

He is cut off by the full force of Vasily's right fist colliding with his cheek. I cringe at the sound of half his face breaking.

"_THE FIREFLIES_?!" Vasily roars in anger, "_YOU GAVE HALF OUR WEAPONS TO THE FUCKING ENEMY_?!"

"It vuhhss eihurr that or we all die!" He speaks so quickly it makes my head spin.

"Did you hear what he said, Karl?" Vasily asks me. When I shake my head, he glowers at the smuggler, "Can you speak normally?"

The smuggler takes a deep breath and repeats himself, more slowly, but still hard to understand, "It vuhhss eihurr that, or zhe Fihurrflies execuuhte everyvuhn on board. would you've rahurr everyvuhn on that ferry of died?"

The challenge does nothing for him, in fact, it is probably a detriment to his situation, as Vasily kicks him in the stomach with enough force to knock him and the chair over.

"_Al'fa_," He begs, once he stops coughing from the pain and possible internal bleeding, "you knuh I can geht moohre guuhhns for you. J-juhs don't kill me, alright?

Vasily looks at me, amusement plain on his face. Slowly, we pull on our gas masks in unison; he pulls a mason jar with the lid screwed on tightly and wrapped in white cloth for good measure out of his backpack.

"Relations with the Fireflies are breaking down, and we need to be ready for if they try something. Hell, they might even try something on Aristovagrad soon," he explains, uncovering the jar releasing a noxious yellow-orange gas, and setting it next to the smuggler's head, "Now, if you didn't run off, and stayed by the ferry to explain everything; I would've been more than happy to let you get more guns for us. But, you ran away like a coward, and that is something unforgivable."

He stomps on the jar and shatters it.

The spores drift lazily into the screaming, terrified man's face.

Vasily Aristov- Casper, Wyoming

I turn to Karl, tuning out the dead man's screams, to see a passive indifference in his eyes.

"Finally been desensitized to it, eh?" I ask, grinning behind my gas mask.

He shrugs noncommittally. "Loses its effect by the tenth time."

"So how many did we actually lose?" I ask, in reference to the guns.

His expression darkens. "Do you really want to know?"

"Of course I do, sergeant," I snap, using rank to put emphasis on the importance of it to me. Karl was a marksman in the reserves for the German military, who volunteered as a UN relief aid in America before everything went too far south. Unfortunately for him, his evac boat got overrun by infected before he was supposed to ship back to a clean Germany.

"Suit yourself," he shrugs. After leaving the room and closing the door behind us, we peel off our gas masks and turn right. At the final door he pulls out a key and unlocks the door.

"It's worse than your guess was," he states, opening the door. "Go ahead, take a look."

Even walking to the door, I could tell how empty the room is, but Karl starts reading from the inventory list anyway.

"Fourteen out of fifty assault rifles, two out of ten wood-framed snipers, three out of ten Gatling guns, one out of six missile launchers, sixteen-"

"Stop," I order, raising my fist. "I'm old, but I'm not blind. How do we get around this?"

He sighs deeply. "I don't know. You're the one who's supposed to have the answers."

I scoff and glare at him out of the corner of my eye, "Oh, really? If that's the case, then why are you and the rest of my circle still alive?"

Almost everyone in my inner circle has a sort of military or supply distribution background. Well, except for the brothers, but Thomas is running our protectorate State out west; and Joel's been AWOL since the two deserted seven years ago. I feel like Thomas is holding out on his brother's whereabouts, but I don't give enough of a fuck to ask him. Besides, he went through enough pain getting disciplined for running away (I broke three of his ribs, an arm, his cheek and orbital, and a leg) without an interrogation on his brother's whereabouts. Well, if Joel and I cross paths again, he'll get much worse than his brother did. It's more enjoyable to break a mind than a body.

"Point taken," Karl says, his face going white. "I'll set up a meeting right away for you, sir."

I nod my acknowledgement. "Do it now. I want to think," I say, dismissing him.

"Yessir!" He responds, immediately turning around and leaving.

Thirty seconds after he leaves, I start pacing and talking to myself, "I need to pull some guards from the west, but that'll leave Jackson State exposed to attack; and possibly even Aristovagrad…no, that won't work. We'll have to pull some participants from the Program and barricade the southern borders with them. Shut down all nonessential travel along the river, mine it and put patrols along it…"

I trail off at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. If my men knew I talk to myself - even when I'm just thinking hard - they might think I'm insane.

"Sir?" Karl says.

Sensing there is question attached to the word, I respond, "You're back rather quickly. What is it?"

"It's Xao. He's…he's dead."

My stomach drops at the last word, but instead of grief at my friend's death, I feel rage. Somewhere hidden in Karl's words was 'Assassination'. The Chinese Special Forces veteran didn't deserve that.

"Who killed him?" I growl.

Surprise dances across his face for only a second, but he knows the gift I have when it comes to reading people and their words. "See for yourself. There was a struggle, and this came off." He tosses me something, and I catch it in one hand.

It feels like a medallion attached to a necklace of metal beads. I open my clenched fist and read, 'Richard O'Brian 01204'. I don't need to turn it over to know that Richard is one of those beetles to the south.

"The Fireflies got INSIDE the city?!" I roar, punching one of the plastic tables holding a severe shortage of frag grenades so hard it cracks. I spin to face Karl, all thoughts of my previous plan evaporating. No, this won't be a defensive war. "Prepare the _Chernyye Volki_, four Blackhawks, and two Chinooks. Also, pull some Infected from the Program and put them in two shipping containers."

His expression goes from shock at my outburst, to confusion, and finally horror, "Sir, think of what you're saying! You're talking about _war_."

He looks like he wants to say more, but is silenced by my glare, "War has been inevitable since they took Boston from us back in November. They have stepped on us for too long, and we have rolled over like dogs to appease Marlene," Karl attempts to interject, but I continue too quickly, "Well, no more shall the Wolf bow to the Beetle."

I step closer to him and grab the back of his head before he can recoil from me. I force him to look up at me and snarl, "We will show them what happens to those who cross the Proletariats. Either take Salt Lake City, _or burn it to the ground_."

/May 6th, 2034 12:01 PM/

Brandon- Wheeling, West Virginia

"You can't stay here," Graham states almost as soon as I sit down. "We don't have the room; we don't exactly want FEDRA around us," he adds, expressing his disgust at the side in the war between FEDRA and the Fireflies Abraham chose. I didn't know he was FEDRA until he took off his backpack, revealing the bold white print on his vest. He confessed that FEDRA conscripted him during the outbreak instead of getting shipped back to Afghanistan for a second tour.

I sigh in disappointment. "Is there anything you can do for us?"

He nods. "Option one: we give you some supplies and you find your own way. Option two: there's a ferry that comes by tonight. If you get on it, it'll take you out southwest along the Ohio River, then north along the Mississippi-" he purses his lips like he doesn't want to say anything more, but eventually relents, "-I'd say you should do option one."

"Why?"

"The ferry will take you to Casper, Wyoming. The group that's in charge of the city…they make _FEDRA_ look like the most benevolent government in history. If you do option two...when you get to the city, don't look anybody in the eye, don't talk unless spoken to, don't have a weapon exposed or a magazine loaded"

He pauses to take a breath. I decide in the silence that they're either really paranoid or Graham's exaggerating.

"And, most importantly: _do not give them any reason to suspect you are or worked with the Fireflies or FEDRA_." He sees the question forming on my lips and immediately answers, "We've kinda blocked four of their expansion attempts, and they despise the 'bourgeois' oppression of FEDRA."

I raise an eyebrow at his use of the word and chuckle. "Bourgeois? Last time I heard that word was learning about the fucking Bolsheviks."

He laughs mirthlessly, "Well, it suits. They're run by Stalin reincarnate. So what's it gonna be? Option one or two?"

I sigh and begin thinking hard. Option one is more dangerous, as we'll be completely exposed. But at the same time, I don't want confirmation of the brutality of this group in Casper. With option one, we wouldn't be chained to just a single direction. If something goes bad in option two, we're fucked. All we can do is sit there in the middle of a river helplessly while we wait for death or whatever nightmare awaits us in Casper.

Finally, I give up the mental debate and think about what Casey'd want; after all, what she wants matters far more than what I'd want. And that is to get as far away from Columbus as quickly as possible.

"We'll risk the ferry."


End file.
